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Author's Chapter Notes:

Brian's PC gets a taste of the Advertising world . . . Enjoy! TAG

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Chapter 9 - PC in Advertising.



Cynthia met Brian in his office wearing a huge shit-eating grin and plopped a largish stack of papers down on his desk. “We got him, Bri! Lapointe’s office couriered this over first thing this morning. NOT that I'm happy we’re working for a PPC scumbag like Lapointe, mind you, but at least his money will be going to a good cause.” Cynthia beamed at Brian and J327. “Morning, J. Glad you decided to come with Brian again today.”


“Yep. J’s thrilled with his new career in advertising,” Brian snickered at Cyn's skeptical expression. “You can't tell? See that hidden smile? Under that taciturn exterior, J’s doing virtual cartwheels and jumping up and down with enthusiasm. He's just really good at controlling it.”


“Whatever you say, Boss.” Cynthia smiled indulgently at her friend’s flight of fantasy while she began to scroll through her tablet computer, going over the day’s agenda. “You've got a pretty light morning . . . Two conference calls but nothing big. Then there's the two pm meeting with Bronian - by the way, I loved that turquoise font you picked. That was genius. Whatever made you go with turquoise? It's such an unusual shade.”


“It was just a whim . . .” Brian replied with a wink in J’s direction.


“Well, then you should definitely go with the whimsy more often!” Cynthia asserted.


“I plan to. But first you need to bring me some more clients to win and impress with my whimsy,” Brian directed. “The PC Clearinghouse account bonus will go a long way to help pay for J’s contract, but it's not enough. I could use at least three more just like that. As soon as we can get ‘em too. What other leads have you got for me?”


They spent the next hour going through a list of prospects. Cynthia had one lead she'd been cultivating from an outside source that was probably ready to go. But other than that, the only relatively sure things were the contacts Brian had made on Saturday at the PC auction. He groaned, thinking how distasteful it would be working with most of those cretins. He'd do it if he had to though. He knew he could sell pretty much anything and he'd worked with clients he couldn't stand before. This would be no different. And at least this time it was for a worthy cause.


Said cause had seated himself in the same spot at the far end of the couch as soon as they'd entered and listened passively to everything that transpired in his usual non-communicative way. As soon as Cynthia left with her action list in hand, Brian gathered up the Sailing Sportwear materials that had been languishing on the far end of his credenza for the past two weeks and took the lot of it over to the coffee table. After spreading it all out, Brian also brought over a legal pad, some pens and pencils and the all-important color swatch set.


“Here’s the deal, J,” Brian started off once everything was set up. “I don’t believe Sapperstein’s bullshit that you’re ‘a little slow’. If anyone’s slow, it’s that loser. In fact, I’d bet just about anything I have that, somewhere in there, is a right little genius, just biding his time. And I’ve decided to put that genius to work to help me pay off your contract. See, it’s a win-win situation - you help me, I make more money, we use it to pay off your contract so you don’t have to go join Bellweather’s harem, and everybody lives happily ever after. All you have to do is use that color magic thing you did yesterday.”


Brian sat down next to the boy and pointed to the boards and other promotional materials in front of them. “This is an old account that’s up for renewal. It’s not going to make me big bucks like the PC Clearinghouse account, but every little bit will help, right? However, I’ve been stuck on this for weeks. Zero inspiration. I just couldn’t be bothered to come up with yet another ad to sell exercise equipment and yoga pants to a bunch of overprivileged housewives. I figure maybe you’ll do better. You couldn’t possibly do worse.” Brian chuckled at himself but plowed on with the instructions. “Everything you need is in these files. There’s demographic info, statistics, sales reports . . . basically everything. And I don’t expect you to understand it all, but I thought I’d let you look through it if you wanted. What I really want from you, though, is for you to go through this huge stack of photos and other marketing shit and pull out anything you think will actually look good in a marketing campaign. Then, do your color thing. We’ll need fonts, mat colors, even color wash ideas for the photos if you think it’s necessary. Whatever strikes your fancy.”


Brian sat back and surveyed the ridiculously huge project laid out in front of the kid. He didn’t know what he would see at the end of the day. He really didn’t have any concrete expectations. If nothing came of it, and the kid just sat there again all day, so be it. But, if he was right about this boy, he might get something extraordinary out of this little experiment. Nothing would convince him that J was ‘a little slow’. He had always been an excellent judge of character - it’s what made him such a good AdMan - and he had seen that spark of intelligence in J327’s eyes from the very first moment they’d connected. He just had to figure out how to tap into it. He suspected that, with this project, he was going to come close.


And at least he wouldn’t feel guilty that the boy was sitting around bored out of his mind all day.


So, leaving the boy sitting in front of his piles of work, Brian retreated to his desk and his own piles of work. As always, he had mountains of paperwork to plow through. He also had to prep for the Bronian Graphics presentation. In between those chores, he had to fill out a ridiculous number of forms for HR about his new PC - who knew that there was so much paperwork involved in owning another human being?


He tried to keep himself from looking over in J’s direction throughout the morning. Of course he failed. Repeatedly. But each glance was more and more heartening. J seemed to be pouring over the files, making copious notes on the legal pad and even drawing something on some blank sheets of paper he’d scrounged out of Brian’s printer. It was the first true initiative Brian had seen from the boy and he was thrilled with the development. And even if the kid’s only motivation was to stay out of Bellweather’s clutches, it was a definite step in the right direction as far as Brian was concerned.


A little after noon, Brian looked up once again and found J327 relaxed against the back of the couch, once again inert and staring off into nothing. Brian lowered his brows in concern, wondering if maybe he’d asked too much and the kid had just given up. He was about to get up and go investigate, when Cynthia came bustling into the office, her arms laden with a paperboard drink caddy tray and a bag full of something smelling like lunch.


“Time to water the houseplant, Boss.”


“Back off, Cyn. I’ve had him two days now and haven’t forgotten to feed him yet,” Brian groused.


“Two whole days. Wow! That’s got to be a record for you, Brian. Keep this up and I might even rethink my decision against that Ficus plant I was going to get you last Christmas,” Cynthia teased as she set up the lunch fixings on the conference table in the corner.


Brian just happened to be looking in the right direction at the moment Cynthia mentioned her threatened Christmas present and saw the smile that graced the perfect bow lips of the reticent PC. Damn it. That smile just made Brian want to find other ways to see it again. He suspected that the boy was probably the biggest tease ever seen in the Gayborhood. He definitely had that aloof, Man Of Mystery thing down pat. But Brian knew he was already wearing the boy down. Give him a few more weeks and J would be putty in his capable hands. Or maybe it would be the other way around? Either way, somebody would end up being putty. He was sure of that.


Cynthia was talked into joining them for lunch, so at least Brian had some conversation to go with his food. J327 ate in silence, but seemed happy with his BLT from the deli down the street and finished the whole thing before Brian had even got through half of his own sandwich. He casually passed over the bag of chips he would never eat to the boy, who wolfed that bag down too. See, Brian thought, he was good at the feeding of the twink thing. People were just way too judgmental.


As she was cleaning up the mess after they’d finished their meal, Cynthia came across the work J327 had done displayed on the coffee table. She was so surprised that she actually dropped the bag of sandwich detritus, letting the trash tumble out all over the carpet. It didn’t matter, though, because the ad layout that she found all put together for her on the table was so beautiful and compelling that it took her breath away.


“When did you have time to do THIS, Brian?” Cynthia asked, picking up the sheet of copier paper covered in drawings, notes and photos taped to the page. “This is brilliant. I love the tag line you came up with - It’s hilarious. It’s so whimsical and light-hearted and fun. And everyone our age will get it. Yogi Bear wearing yoga pants. Hahaha! You’re amazing, Brian!”


Brian picked up another sheet of paper, this one with Bugs Bunny on it. And a third with the Power Puff girls. All showing classic cartoon characters doing yoga, aerobics, spinning classes, tai chi . . . and all with amazingly accurate drawings paired with the photos from the client’s stock and full notes about everything from colors to fonts and matting. It was more than Brian had asked for. It was also, as Cynthia had already pointed out, utterly brilliant.


“Shit! How difficult will it be to get licensing rights to all these characters, Cyn?” Brian asked the first question that popped into his head.


“I think it can be done. It might be a bit pricier than Sailing was planning on though. But, if he’s willing to foot the bill, this campaign will end up being a huge money maker for him,” Cynthia voiced the opinion that they were both thinking. “The demographics are perfect for this. This targets exactly the right age group - the sub-boomer generation that is just passing their prime, has lots of disposable income and wants to get more exercise. It’s spot on.”


“I agree, Cyn. It’s perfect. We just need to make sure we can get permission to use the characters . . . and find out if there are any limitations on using artwork and ideas generated by a PC to advance his owner’s advertising career.”


“J327 did all this?” Cynthia stared in amazement at the boy who was once again pretending to be as dense as a hunk of granite.


“None other. But can I use it? There’s no stupid regulations about him not being able to work with me in my job are there. I mean, I don’t actually have an ownership interest in VanGuard. And you were the one telling me all that crap the other day about PCs not being allowed to be employed outside the home. So, what’s the deal about using all this? Can we? And can we give him the credit? Because I don’t want to just take his ideas and pass them off as my own. Not unless there’s no other way to use this stuff. Because I DO want to use it.” Brian was again flipping through the drawings the boy had done, floored by the excellent results of his iffy experiment, but still unsure how to work this PC thing.


“I have no idea, Brian. But I’ll find out for you. And, in the meantime, I’ll get the Art Dept started on these - without telling them who did the work.” Cynthia gathered everything together, shot J327 an appreciative smile and then trotted out with her Louboutin heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she went.


“Come here, J.” Brian ordered as soon as she was gone and the door had closed behind her.


The boy got hesitantly to his feet, shuffling slowly towards Brian and coming to a halt a foot or so from his owner. The boy was exhibiting his typically passive behavior - hands at his sides, head bowed, eyes downcast. Brian wouldn’t let him hide behind that ingrained submissiveness though. He tilted the boy’s head up, looked right into the amazing gemstone blue eyes and then bent down to kiss the surprised cotton candy-pink lips.


“Thank you, J. You did an amazing job on that project. It’s wonderful. And, provided we can get the client to sign off on it, it’s going to make us all a lot of money. You did everything I asked of you and more. I’m incredibly impressed.” The boy’s expression didn’t change even an iota at Brian’s words, but he thought that, maybe, the sparkle in the pretty blue eyes might have brightened just a tiny bit. “Okay, so, you’re going to have to prepare yourself, J. Because I’m going to hug you now. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”


That warning given, Brian encircled the smaller body in his long arms, folding the boy into his embrace and pulling him tightly against his chest. There was a long moment of tenseness at first, but gradually the reticent stiffness subsided until the little body relaxed. Brian smiled into the mop of short cropped blond hair. He felt his own body relax in response - he hadn't realized until just now how tense he too had been since Saturday. It felt really good, though, to finally hold the kid, getting off for just a minute from the rollercoaster of confusion that had been driving them both for the past couple of days. As long as they kept working as a team, maybe they'd figure this thing out after all. They just had to stick together, cause together, they fit. They meshed. They supported each other and could stand as one.


And for that moment, it felt like everything would all work out fine.


********


Brian returned to his office after the Bronian Graphics presentation pumped with success. Not only had the client loved his concept and the slogan he’d come up with, but their Marketing Director - a savvy forty-something woman with years of experience - had also loved the artwork. She specifically commented on the turquoise font, praising Brian for making such an unusual and bold choice. In large part because of her recommendation, the client signed off on the campaign without a single change. Brian included the bonus money he’d just earned from this in his mental tally of what he needed to gather for J327’s contract. He was happy to think about how quickly the gap between what he had and what he needed was dropping.


Back in his office, things were quiet. Even more quiet than Brian had expected. He’d left the silent PC sitting there on the couch while he’d been in his meeting, not knowing what else to do with the boy. When he got into the office, Brian immediately looked over and saw the little blond just where expected, only now the younger man was curled up in a ball and sound asleep.


Shit, he looked young! The kid’s body wound in on itself as if he was trying to make himself look even smaller than he was. Creating a smaller target perhaps? Even his head was pulled down towards his chest in a guarded manner. Brian had to wonder if this kid had just fallen asleep out of boredom or if he was working off a significant sleep deficit. He didn’t know what J327’s life had been like back at Handler Sapperstein’s training facility, but he imagined it hadn’t been a safe or restful place. It was good that the boy was able to relax enough now that he could catch up on his sleep.


Brian slipped his suit jacket off and approached the couch, intending on dropping it over the kid’s shoulders in lieu of a blanket. As he neared, Brian noted that the lad had his right arm pulled in tightly to his gut, with the left arm cradling it protectively. Brian had seen that stance the night before and knew what it meant. He didn’t know what caused the hand to cramp and tremble, and wondered if it happened frequently or if there was something in the past couple of days that had triggered it. Either way, there had to be something that could be done about it - some medication or treatment of some kind. Brian really did need to get the boy’s medical records and look into this.


Brian grabbed the bottle of Tylenol he kept in his desk drawer as part of his standard hangover treatment kit and brought it with him back to the couch. Sitting next to the slumbering boy, he gently grabbed him by the shoulder. The touch alone must have startled the boy awake though, as his eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright, even while he was still blinking and trying to focus on his surroundings.


“It’s just me, J. You can go back to sleep in a minute if you like. I just wanted to give you some pain pills for your arm. I can tell it must be hurting you again. You were holding it in your sleep,” Brian explained, trying to soothe the spooked PC. “Here. This should help.” Brian took the kid’s good left hand in his own and shook out two tablets from the familiar red-labelled plastic bottle into the open palm. “Go on. Take ‘em,” he directed when the boy still hesitated.


Instead of the instant compliance he expected, however, Brian was surprised to see the kid turn his head away, his mouth clamped tightly shut, and the hand still holding the pain relievers being thrust back towards Brian. Which made no sense at all. The boy was obviously in pain, so why wouldn't he want the meds that would help him? And stranger yet, why was J refusing a direct order? Despite Brian's suspicions that the boy had a deep-seated but carefully hidden rebellious streak, the kid had never yet dared to openly go against a direct order. Considering what Brian had seen of The Sapp’s training techniques, he imagined the consequences for such misbehavior would have been dire. Making these actions even more incomprehensible.


“What’s going on, J? Why won’t you take the meds? They should help with the pain in your hand, so just take them,” Brian tried again, pushing the hand with the two little pills back towards the boy.


J327 shook his head no, turning away even further, his face scrunched up and his body hunched over as if he expected to be hit at any moment for his unpardonable insubordination. Yet he was still unwilling to take the pills. When Brian released his grip on the boy’s left hand, the pills tumbled to the carpet.


“I don’t understand, J. Tell me what’s wrong. Why won’t you take the Tylenol?” Brian asked, genuinely confused and wondering if he’d done something to precipitate this response. “Just tell me why you won’t take the pills, J.”


Still cowering fearfully, J327 managed to reach out with his undamaged hand and grab the Tylenol bottle off the coffee table. With only a quick glance or two at the object, J turned the bottle around until the section of the label detailing all the FDA mandated warnings was visible to Brian. The still puzzled man took the bottle in his own hand and scanned the label, paying special attention to the section that J had seemed to want to show him.


At first nothing stood out. Then, Brian’s eyes landed on the ‘Warnings’ section that started about a third of the way down the bottle. He read through the standard warnings about the dosage and how excessive amounts might potentially cause liver damage, but didn’t think that was causing J’s reaction. Next, however, came the section entitled ‘Do Not Use:’ . . . followed by, ‘If you have ever had an allergic reaction to this product or any of it’s ingredients.’


“Shit! You’re allergic to Tylenol?” Brian asked and received a miniscule nod.”That’s crazy. Nobody’s allergic to Tylenol. That’s what they give you when you’re allergic to everything else . . .” Brian saw another nod. “Which means you probably ARE allergic to everything else. And I almost forced you to take some. Fuck!”


Brian tossed the pill bottle back onto the coffee table, not caring at all that it tipped over and half the contents spilled out. He let out a breath, sank back against the couch cushions and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t believe what a close call they’d just had. He really had been going to insist that the kid take the medicine. Thankfully, he’d stopped and listened to his gut telling him that something was wrong. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened.


“You know, this would be a LOT easier if you’d just talk to me, you little twat,” Brian complained, shaking his head at the boy still cowering against the arm of the couch as if he expected to be punished at any moment. “Come here, J. Give me your other hand,” Brian insisted, then, when J was still slow to comply, reaching around the boy and grabbing the affected limb without compunction. “I’m not going to hurt you, brat. I’m not angry. I’m just freaking out a little about how I could have fucking killed you with a couple of damn Tylenol just because you won’t talk to me. But I’ll get over it.”


Brian started massaging the boy’s hand which was bent into a painful-looking claw again, not relenting even when the kid flinched at his touch. “Shit. This is bad. It’s even worse than when I saw it last night.” He pressed at the knots of contorted muscles, noting that the tension went halfway up to the kid’s elbow this time. “I wish I knew what caused this. Does it happen all the time? Or . . . maybe you overworked it with all that drawing you did for me this morning? I didn’t even think about it at the time, but that might have made this worse. Damn!”


Brian kept working at the rigid muscles and straining tendons until the tension gradually dissipated. At the same time, the stiffness in the rest of the boy’s body also eased up. Before long, J327 was leaning into Brian’s side, his head resting against the big, solid shoulder, while he succumbed to the solace being offered.


Brian suspected the kid was just about to fall back to sleep when the door to his office opened - without a preceding knock - and his blowhard boss, Gardner Vance blustered in.


“When the hell were you going to tell me about the PC Clearinghouse contract, Kinney?” Vance demanded, assuming an aggressive stance with legs spread and arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at the pair still seated on the couch.


“Good afternoon to you too, Gardner. I’m doing just great. Thanks for asking,” Brian replied sarcastically, not pausing in his massage even though Vance’s angry appearance had caused J327 to shrink back further into his corner again.


“Fuck the pleasantries, Brian. You work for me. I don’t have to be nice. Just answer me. When the hell were you planning on telling me about all this,” he waved at the boy sitting next to his employee as an example. “I just got off the phone with Walter Lapointe and had to fucking pretend the whole time I knew what the hell he was talking about. It was NOT fun for me. Now, I want a full report and an explanation about what the hell you think you’re doing buying a fucking PC!”


Brian finally released J327’s hand and got up from his seat on the couch. He calmly walked around the desk and assumed his place in the office chair. Then, before speaking, he took out the PC Clearinghouse contract and let it fall with a thud to the desktop.


“You told me to go sign Lapointe up, Gardner. So I did. What else do you need to know?” Brian asked, as succinctly and unrepentantly as always.


“Great! But what the fuck is all this other shit he was spouting about? He was fucking raving about how impressed he was that you were willing to embrace his account so much you bought a damn PC? What the hell were you thinking, Kinney. That’s nuts. I don’t pay you enough to do that kind of shit. And if I do, then I’m obviously paying you too much.” Gardner let himself collapse into the guest chair in front of Brian’s desk.


“Why would it matter to you that I bought a PC? I had my reasons,” Brian answered, not about to give any further explanation to his asshole boss. “And, since it got us the fucking account, why the hell are you complaining?”


“Because, you moron, now Lapointe’s all head over heels in love with you and demanding that I make you partner and shit!” Vance admitted with a grimace. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. I’m not planning to reward unmitigated stupidity with a promotion. I happen to know for a fact that there’s no way in hell you can actually pay the bid price Lapointe told me you offered. And how’s it going to look to our brand new client when you renege on your offer and the sale falls through? He’ll think you did all this just to win the account and that you never planned to follow through at all. The agency will look ridiculous and we’ll not only lose that account but he could take others with him if he makes a big enough stink about it. This is the stupidest move I’ve ever heard of, Kinney!”


“Fuck you, Vance. That’s NOT why I bought the kid,” Brian insisted. “And I don’t plan to renege on my bid. I’ll find the money.”


“You damn well better or you’ll not only be out one Personal Companion, you’ll be out of a job, too!” Vance stood up and moved towards the door.


“As long as you pay me the bonus you agreed to for signing up Lapointe, it shouldn’t be a problem, Vance,” Brian reminded his boss before the man could make good his escape.


“You’ll get your fucking bonus as soon as the Clearinghouse money gets here. But, from what I heard, that won’t be nearly enough to save your ass. So you better get back to fucking work,” Vance ordered from his position in the doorway. “Oh, and leave the boy toy at home from now on. This is a fucking office, not a brothel. Your new PC doesn’t need to be here distracting you from working. You can cuddle together on the couch on your own time.”


Brian barely held off till the door was closed before he threw the stapler at the spot where Vance had been standing just a few seconds earlier. Luckily that was all he threw, since Cynthia poked her head around the corner ten seconds later and would have been beaned by any subsequent missiles. Seeing that the coast was clear, though, she let herself in.


“I heard . . .” was all she had to say. “Fucking Vance. He really does need a hobby other than being the biggest asshole on two feet.” Brian just carried on, silently fuming, and didn’t answer her. “Anyway . . . At least I come with information that might help get him off your back, Boss.” She laid a file folder in front of him. “I got you an appointment with one of the two bigwigs from the VIP table that you wanted me to approach. You have a meeting with Simon Craswell next Thursday. He’s some kind of publishing mogul but he also recently bought a small but prestigious art gallery here in Pittsburgh. His secretary said he’d been shopping for an advertising firm for two months and hadn’t yet found anyone he liked. As soon as I told her where you met Simon, she was thrilled. She seemed to think you’d be the perfect person for their marketing work.”


“Peachy . . . yet another troll with too much money who thinks buying and selling human beings is a fun hobby. Can’t wait to spend time with him,” Brian grumbled, but reached for the file nonetheless. “Someday, Cynthia, I’m going to have my own fucking agency, and once I do, I’m NEVER going to take on these kinds of accounts. I know it’s the advertising business, and we’re in it to sell unwanted shit to unsuspecting consumers . . . but even I have a few fucking morals and I HATE this kind of shit.”


“Well, when that day comes, just make sure you take me with you, Boss,” Cynthia offered as supportively as she could. “But, in the meantime, let’s just concentrate on making you enough money to pay off J’s contract. And I’m afraid that the best way to do that, is to put on your Kinney charm and win this guy over.”   


Brian flipped through the contents of the file for a couple minutes, sighed and then pushed the whole thing away from him. “Fine. We’ll work on this tomorrow. At least this business isn’t directly related to the PC trade. I should be able to sell art to rich snobs without any weighty ethical concerns.” Brian looked over at the ‘boy toy’ waiting meekly on his couch. “I was hoping to have J help out on all these new accounts though. He might as well, since the money is going towards paying for his ass. But now with Gardner telling me to keep him home . . .”


“So? I don’t see why J couldn’t do the work from your place just as easily as he can here. You just take the stuff home to him at night. If you need to send him stuff during the day, we can just fax it or email. Worst case, I have to run stuff back and forth from here to there. It’s doable,” Cynthia shrugged unconcerned about the extra effort. “Plus, that resolves some of the legal issues you told me to research,” she added. “I talked to some of my APC contacts about the situation. They told me that you shouldn’t have any problems using J’s work but that giving him credit wouldn’t be advisable. Since he isn’t allowed to work outside your home, technically, it might be a problem to have him doing work here at VanGuard. But, if he’s doing the work for you AT HOME, and you’re just using it as part of your own work product, there shouldn’t be any worries. Since you own him - or at least his contract - everything he produces is legally yours anyway. I know you would prefer to give him credit for his own work, but that’s just not going to happen with a PC. Besides, your clients would probably just automatically discount anything you showed them if they knew it was done by a PC.”


“What-the-fuck-ever,” Brian sounded disgusted but resigned to the reality of the situation. “You’ll have to train him on the computer at the loft and make sure he’s good with the fax and email and stuff - I’m pretty sure none of that was part of his PC training experience.” Brian smiled over at the kid, whose body language gave away the fact that he was getting a little bit overwhelmed by all the plans being made for him. “Oh, and you need to hurry up and get me his records asap. Especially any medical records. Make it your top priority. I found out today he’s allergic to Tylenol, and probably a bunch of other medications as well. I want to have a complete list of all of them, asap. And we also need to get him in to the doctor - there’s something wrong with his hand and I think all that drawing he did this morning made it worse. If we’re going to have him working on our accounts with us, he needs to be able to do it without his hand cramping up in pain on a daily basis. Since you tell me we need a doctor exam for the insurance shit anyway, we should be able to just do it all at once, but I want it scheduled by the end of the week if possible.”


“Got it, Boss. Let me get on that records thing right now,” Cynthia finished jotting down the list of new tasks and then hustled out.


“Okay, J. If you’re going to be my secret, in-home, art department, we’re going to need to deal with the home feeding situation.” Brian turned to his computer and logged onto the internet. “Come here, J,” Brian summoned the kid, forcing him to perch on his knee so they were both able to look at the computer at the same time. “Let’s go grocery shopping . . . without the crowds this time. Now, just point out anything you want and we’ll have it delivered. See . . . fear of crowds, no problem.”


It took a little prodding, but eventually J327 got up enough courage so that he would point to things on the computer screen. Together they managed to order enough to keep even a hungry twink alive for a week or so. Brian was feeling rather proud of himself - all those naysayers could go fuck themselves, since he was doing just fine keeping the boy fed.

 

Brian could SO keep a houseplant - or maybe even a seventeen-year-old boy - alive and fed indefinitely.

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

10/11/16 - Aha, we see Justin's artistic talents making a show finally. And maybe Brian and Justin are starting to get a little closer because of it . . . just a little fun foreshadowing for you.  Hope you enjoyed. TAG

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